Crossfire
by deathbymarshmallows
Summary: Launchpad is pulled into the spy business again when SHUSH recruits him to go undercover as retired FOWL agent Bruno Von Beak. This time around, however, he's partnered up with Agent Marty McFly and apparently the two have some history... LPxOC
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: First multi-part fic! :D_**

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Moonlight bathed the landscape, lush green blades of grass and long stemmed wildflowers danced in a cool, spring breeze. The sweet scent of newly bloomed blossoms laced the wind and teased his nose. In the distance, he could hear the almost melodic chirping of crickets, the music of a babbling brook just beyond a quaint wooden fence and a thin tree line that separated the farm from a forest. Starlight dappled a clear, almost black velvet sky, twinkling and shimmering. There was a peaceful still over the meadow, a comforting blanket that should have wrapped anyone present in a cleansing serenity.

Instead, Launchpad McQuack cringed as another white blossom was crushed beneath his foot, a flurry of petals and leaves and dirt and grass flying up in his wake. The only thing he was feeling was an unsettling wave of nausea and panic. Oh, and a sharp cramp in his hamstring! Oh, pain. Lots of pain!

"Run. Just keep running!"

Hazarding a glance over his shoulder, then eighteen year old felt his brow furrow. His eyes narrowed on the young woman running just beside and behind him. In this light, her blue eyes glowed, a mix of amusement and adrenaline dancing in those orbs. The soft light highlighted her wheat colored hair with browns and gold. Her white cotton dress, a flattering a-line that she saved for special occasions and church, made her look almost angelic. Almost because he doubted angels would dare to be seen with grass stains and specks of mud on any of their clothing or with a tangled mess of wild curls sitting upon their head no matter what the situation. If anything, those wheat curls were hiding a pair of tiny red horns and he was tempted to slow his gait just to see if there was a tail protruding from her backside.

He finally found his voice when the angry bellow of a bull echoed behind them. Much to his dismay, the bastard was gaining on them. "How do I let you talk me into these things?" he huffed.

His legs started to ache, a twinge of pain traveling through his calves and thighs; the field was a hell of a lot bigger than he had initially thought. With a sharp intake of breath, Launchpad shook his head, clearing his mind of any stray thought. Right now was not the time to be wondering if his football coach would be disappointed to find out his first string running back was winded after a brisk jog. Never mind that he had wolfed down two cheeseburgers, a large fries and a chocolate milkshake only a half hour before Little Miss One-of-The-Guys dragged him out here and hadn't planned on doing any running. He hadn't planned on doing any physical activity after…

Okay, well, no. That was a lie or he wouldn't have bothered tucking a box of Tic-Tacs into his jacket before picking up Marty.

A breathless laugh brought him back to the moment. "You can be pissed off at me after we hop the fence, babe," she replied, managing to wink playfully at him. "I'll totally make it up to you."

"Martina, I swear—oof!"

It was the most insignificant movement. The toe of his boot just scraped the top of the dirt wrong, digging just a centimeter too deep that it was caught on some invisible root. Something in his ankle popped and snapped and he went down hard. A strangled yelp of pain fought the thick knot lodged in his throat as he dug his fingers into the moist dirt.

Martina slid to a stop, wheeling about with her arms outstretched in a failed attempt to catch him. "Launchpad, are you alright?"

"What are you doing? Keep running," he grunted, struggling to keep his voice level. He pushed himself up on his feet and wobbled as tears threatened to leak from the corners of his eyes. "I'm fine." She opened her mouth to protest when another bellow sounded and this time, he could feel the ground trembling beneath him. He managed a quick glance over his shoulder before the angry beast roared again. The bull had lowered its head, twin horns racing toward him. Balanced precariously on his good foot, he shoved Martina to the side and out of harm's way.

Then, he braced himself to take a hit that never came.

He found himself stumbling sideways suddenly and just barely out of the bull's path as it barreled onward and rammed it's massive head against the steel fence. His back hit something solid and stiff and before he could register that it was the fence, he scrambled over it. Panting, he fell against the fence and wiped the sweat from his brow before sweeping matted strands of red hair back and out of his face. Blinking, he turned his attention away from the animal and to Marty, who stood off to the side, her arms wrapped around her torso as she stared down at the ground. A thin sheen of tears covered her eyes, the tan feathers on around her eyes and on her cheeks damp. The panic and nausea that had been tearing him apart was replaced with a sudden rush of guilt. If there was anything more uncomfortable than watching a girl cry, he hadn't witnessed it yet. She trembled, taking in a shuddery breath as he hobbled forward to place a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Something in her eyes flashed, a dam of some sort broke within her, but not one of tears. Not tears of sorrow, anyway. Her face contorted into an angry glare and she shoved him away. "Idiot," she snarled. "What the fuck were you thinking? You could have been killed!"

He hopped back, steadying himself on his good foot. "Wait just a minute! You're mad at me now?"

"Damn straight I am," she snapped. "Don't ever ask me to leave you behind again! Not ever!"

Launchpad snorted derisively. "Are you seriously angry because-"

She stomped forward, fisting her hand around his dirtied shirt front and yanked him closer. He found himself hunched over uncomfortably, the end of his bill brushing against hers as she glared at him. Swallowing thickly, he ignored the heat rising to his face and was silently thanking the powers that be that he had feathers to cover up the red that was spreading across his face. How much would she hate him if he faltered just the tiniest bit, slipped forward and accidentally kissed her? He lifted his gaze to meet hers. Her eyes narrowed. The idea was dashed as he felt the very core of his being freeze under those intense blue eyes. He knew better than to try anything when she was this upset. "Promise me," she hissed.

"This is ridiculous-"

Her gripped tightened. "Promise me!"

"I promise…" he mumbled. He felt her grip loosen on his shirtfront. He straightened, placing some weight on his throbbing ankle. It was swollen and aching, but thankfully not broken. With a wince, he leaned against the fence and rubbed the back of his sore neck. Why did he allow himself to be abused like this?

"Hey, McQuack."

"Yeah?" Launchpad grunted in response, not even bothering to lift his eyes.

"Thanks for saving my butt." She caught the collar of his shirt and pulled him forward again. His muscles tightened in response and he squeezed his eyes shut, wincing at the thought of being barked at again. Then her bill was pressed against his. Launchpad's eyes snapped open wide and then slowly closed again, a goofy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Her hands left the collar of his shirt, flitted over his shoulders and slipped into his red hair, tugging him closer. A shiver ran down his spine as a soft sigh escaped her bill.

As suddenly as it happened, it ended. She broke away, inhaling deeply before her eyes flicked up to meet his. She gave Launchpad a pat on the shoulder as if she were congratulating him on a great game. Then she wandered away in the direction of his parked pick-up truck, combing her fingers through her short hair. Dazed, he fell against the gate, taking greedy gulps of air and grinning…

"Earth to Launchpad! Hell-ooo…"

Launchpad blinked rapidly, squinting as the bright midday sun and clear blue sky suddenly filled his vision. A frigid wind with the promise of an especially cold winter buffeted his face and hair, the crisp smell of freshly cut grass and something smoky (Probably a grill. Herb loved to barbeque no matter what season, after all) bombarding his nostrils. Out of habit, he swiped at the end of his bill with a gloved hand, willing the urge to sneeze to leave him. It didn't work. "Whoa. Now, that was weird," he muttered as he massaged his temple. He could feel a faint pulse of pain just behind his eyes and he groaned softly at the thought of the impending headache. Slowly, the pulse of pain in his head spread and he felt his limbs ache dully. "What happened?"

Drake appeared suddenly in his line of sight, waving a hand in front of his face. "Y'know, when I said go long, I didn't think you'd actually get this far," he said, the hint of amusement beneath his concerned tone. "You alright, LP?"

Launchpad managed a weak nod. "Awesome."

"Come on, let's get you up," Drake sighed, taking a firm hold on Launchpad's wrist.

With a sharp intake of air, the pilot was sitting up and taking in his surroundings carefully. Splintered wood and broken branches littered the lawn around him. Herb was on his right, stomping on a charred piece of turf while his beloved grill laid toppled over on its side just behind and beside him. Somewhere on his left, he could hear Gosalyn and her friends exchanging hushed giggles and whispers. "Boy, that was some catch, Launchpad!" Herb laughed.

"Too bad he was totally out of bounds," Gosalyn pointed out as she peeked over the remains of the fence.

Drake scoffed. "What are you talking about? He had already made it into the end zone," he countered, folding his arms across his chest. "So, we won."

"In your dreams," she spat. "We won! Sophie has photographic evidence!" She turned and motioned to the platypus standing a few feet away.

Still massaging his right temple, Launchpad's gaze followed Drake as he strode over to the gaping hole in the fence where Gosalyn stood, a beat up football tucked under her arm. "Sophie, put the camera down! He intercepted your throw to Sophie, ran down field and made a touchdown," the older mallard explained curtly. "Therefore, we win!"

"He missed the end zone completely and crashed into the fence," she snapped. "LP went airborne those last five feet! His feet never touched it!"

The pilot tilted his head slightly, confusion etched on his face. "Huh? I did?"

"Shush, LP," Drake hissed, then turned back to Gosalyn. "It still counts!"

"It does not!"

Launchpad rolled his eyes and with a grunt, lifted himself onto his feet shakily. A hand fell on his shoulder, steadying him. "Thanks, Herb," he mumbled with a grateful nod. To tell the truth, he wasn't sure what had happened. He remembered running but not across the yard and not for a football. He could still hear the echoes of the bull bellowing behind him and airy laughter…

He lifted his eyes to see Morgana approaching. She paused, readjusting the collar of her knee length black coat before allowing her gloved hands to flit over her face and into her loose hair, pulling it back into an effortless ponytail. She stopped at the hole in the fence, waving her hand over the broken boards. The white boards trembled for a half second, lifted into the air and flew back into place. Her hand dropped and she managed a halfhearted smile at the pilot. "Not even in a plane," she laughed. "And you crashed."

He managed a grin. "What can I say? I have a knack for it."

"Obviously," she smiled sweetly.

There was a sharp whistle behind him and Launchpad turned to look. Drake tossed the football at him, clapping his hands together. LP fumbled with the ball for a moment before getting a better grip on it and automatically tucking it close to his chest. "Okay, so according to the ref," he began, motioning to Binky who was handing out cookies and glasses of lemonade to the kids. "We lost. I think its because Honker was on Gos' team, but still."

"Aw, maybe next time, DW," Launchpad said. "Man, my head is killin' me-"

"Which is why we're having a rematch right now! Kick off is in two minutes so you might want to clean the blood off your forehead, LP," Drake continued, pounding his fist into his palm. "We have to show these kids how it's really done!"

Launchpad blinked in surprise, touching his aching forehead gingerly. He winced and a curse slipped from his mouth. His eyes widened as he glanced down at the pads of his fingers, stained bright red. "Whoa, when did that happen?"

"Probably when you hit the fence with your face," the shorter drake replied nonchalantly. "Morg, you're playing, too."

Morgana sighed, tugging the trim of her black gloves before folding her arms across her chest. "Dark, why do I have to play? You know I don't understand most of these games."

"Oh, honeybunch," Drake chuckled. "Don't worry about it. It'll be easy. We'll just have you go downfield like usual. You just catch the ball when we throw it to you."

Eyebrow delicately raised, Morgana let out a quick huff of air, disbelief flashing in her green eyes. "You mean 'if' you throw the ball to me."

Drake frowned, opening his mouth to reply when Launchpad spoke up. "How long has my head been bleeding, you guys?" he slurred, handing the ball back to Drake. "Because I'll be honest, there's like six of ya right now…"

Morgana cringed. "Maybe, we should take you to the hospital," she suggested. "You probably have a concussion, dear."

Launchpad managed to shake his head and instantly regretted it as the pounding in his head intensified. "Nah, maybe just need some juice…"

"Or a transfusion," the witch murmured.

He nodded lazily. "That might help, too."

She laughed weakly. "Go get cleaned up. We won't start without you."

* * *

Tossing his head back, Launchpad examined the gash on his forehead in the bathroom mirror. He frowned, leaning over the sink so that he was as close as possible to the mirror and brushing back his unkempt red hair from his face to better assess the damage. It wasn't as bad as it looked, but the crimson stained feathers above his right eye and along his temple were enough to cause concern. He exhaled loudly, groaning in frustration as he dropped back and away from the reflective surface. After all the times he had been able to walk away unscathed from every sort of vehicular disaster imaginable, a simple picket fence was what finally broke his streak.

Launchpad shrugged it off and reached into the cabinet beside him to retrieve a box of gauze and rubbing alcohol. Without much thought, he opened the bottle, poured a bit of the liquid on a good sized piece of a gauze and inhaled sharply as he dabbed it against the open wound. He hissed in pain, but continued. It wouldn't do him any good if he left the cut untreated. Instead, he allowed his thoughts to wander, ignoring the deep burning sensation.

Images of Martina crashed through his mind like the ocean against the rocks. She was laughing and dancing in the bleachers, cheering on the football team as her short wheat hair spilled over her face. She was scaling the trellis outside his bedroom window and scaring him half to death popping the pane out of the frame in order to get in. Why had she done that again? He knew the reason. It had hovered in the back of his mind for a long while, but it just seemed out of reach at that moment.

"I wonder what she's doing now," he muttered out loud. He peeled the now red stained gauze away from his feathers, flinching as he glanced at the gash in the mirror again. "Jeez, that's a lot deeper than I thought."

"Ouch! You're probably gonna need stitches for that."

More out of habit than anything else, he nodded. "Yeah, you're probably ri-what?" His gaze darted away from his own reflection to the shadowy figure hovering near the doorway.

With a start, Launchpad spun around to face the doorway. The time he had spent with Darkwing, perusing case files and patrolling the streets almost every night had taught him to size up strangers quickly. Male, mallard, six foot two, buck eighty and dressed… _like a ninja? _

"Huh?" was all he managed to get out before there was a blur of movement and sharp pain at the base of his skull that brought him to his knees. He toppled forward on the cold bathroom floor as his vision blurred and it became harder to keep his thoughts from feeling disconnected and slipping into a pitch blackness piece by piece. The last clear thought he had before he passed out was what the hell kind of ninja was six foot two? That was just too tall for a ninja…

* * *

The lights in the gym were about to go out.

Marty had heard the thunder earlier, felt the trembles from its angry rumbles in the hollow of her chest as she walked quickly down the dirt road from her farmhouse to the high school. At the time, her only thought was a silent plea to keep the rain at bay until she could make her way into the gymnasium with her hair still in neat curls and her party dress still dry. As she reached the doors, it seemed as if the dingy gray clouds above had taken pity on her and would hold off their downpour. The torrential rain came with a thunderous snort of mean-spirited laughter, drenching her completely. All in all, it had been a mistake to wear white that night. The cat calls and wide-eyed stares she received as she entered the decorated gym were proof enough. From the door to the bleachers should have been a trail of tears and bloody teeth, but Launchpad had swooped in before she could even ball up a fist. With his usual friendly smile, he had placed an arm around her narrow shoulders and led her away from the crowd and to the privacy of the bleachers to dry off. She released a sigh, wrapping her arms around herself as she shivered, huddled at the very top of the bleachers. The guy was a regular knight in shining armor and he didn't even realize it.

An arm fell around her trembling shoulders. Her eyes tracked over to Launchpad as a soft smile played on her bill. He returned her smile before removing his arm from around her shoulders and slipping off his dark gray dress jacket. She resisted the urge to blush as he draped it around her. He swept her damp hair back and out of her face, still smiling gently as a weak giggle escaped her mouth. Instinctively, she leaned into his touch. His hand lingered for a moment, fingers tangled in her hair and she wondered if tonight he'd get brave enough to close the distance between them. Lord knows, she had given him enough chances to kiss her and she wasn't about to initiate it this time. Nope. She had already kissed him twice. Granted, they had only been thirteen the first time and the second was only a week ago, it was still his turn. His hand fell away from her hair suddenly. He cleared his throat loudly before a sheepish grin slipped onto his bill. At this rate, though, they would be attending their ten year reunion before that happened. With an annoyed sigh and a well-practiced roll of her eyes, Marty visibly wilted and looked away.

_Figures._ "McQuack, you're killing me," she muttered.

He blinked dumbly at her. "Huh?"

With a dismissive wave of her hand, she leaned over to rest her head against his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, LP," she replied casually. Her eyes drifted away from him and to the open floor below. The gym was teeming with high school seniors and teachers, the center of the room filled with rocking and wiggling bodies. Laughter and unintelligible chatter filled the room, competing with the rhythmic and melodic sounds coming from the DJ table set up at the far end. Lights danced across the room, picking silver glints in the disco ball that hung from the rafters. The lights flickered as thunder rumbled again. This time, she could hear the square window panes rattling above them. Any minute now, the electricity would go out. She just knew it would and the gym would be filled with girlish screams and records scratching. Her eyes drifted back over to Launchpad who was busily nodding his head to the music and humming.

She rolled her eyes. Leave it to him to overlook the painfully obvious romantic atmosphere just because the DJ was playing "Take Me Home Tonight". She nudged his ribs gently. "Hey," she smirked as he paused and glanced at her. "Go ask Jenna Flockhart to dance. You're not soaked."

"I'm really sorry, Marty," he sighed, bowing his head slightly. "I knew I should have picked you up."

"Quit that. You didn't make it rain, LP," she replied, snuggling against him for warmth as another shiver racked her body. "I mean, unless you did some silly rain dance before getting ready for prom."

"Well, no, but still…Loopy might have…"

"Launchpad," she half laughed, half scolded. "Stop it. It's fine."

He sighed. "But you haven't danced at your own prom yet," he muttered, looking away.

Marty straightened, frowning thoughtfully. "Neither have you."

"Heh, true," he chuckled nervously. "Then again, I have two left feet. I wasn't really planning on dancing…"

"Then, you should definitely dance with Jenna," she snickered. He threw her a sidelong glance, brow furrowed loosely as he frowned. "Oh, cheer up, big guy. I'm only kidding."

"Uh-huh," he replied, biting back a smile. "So, why exactly do you not like Jen again?"

Without answering his question, she stood up, slipping her slender arms into the jacket's sleeves before offering Launchpad her hand. He blinked at her, his eyes darting from her hand to her face. "Well, how about dancing with me, then?"

His eyes widened slightly. "Seriously?"

Marty tilted her head. "What do you think?" she grinned.

He returned her smile with one of his own, crooked and boyishly handsome. She couldn't fight the quick flutter of excitement that rippled through her chest as he made a move to take her hand, the tips of his fingers just brushing against her palm.

That's when the lights in the gym finally died…

Marty's eyes fluttered opened. She blinked, lifting her hand to block out the bright sunlight streaming in through her bedroom window. Somewhere behind her, the shrill buzzing drilled into her ears and she swung her other arm behind her, slapping the alarm clock. Dazed, she glanced at the made up side of her bed, still as neat as it had been before she fell asleep last night, and frowned as realization hit her. She rolled onto her back and stared at her ceiling.

"Of all the lousy dreams…" she grumbled, squeezing her eyes shut.

Knocking interrupted her attempts to drift off again, persistent and urgent sounding. Still, it irritated her and she threw her blankets off huffily. She stalked out of her bedroom and crossed the living room to stand before her front door in a over-sized t-shirt and shorts. She growled, smacking the door with an open palm as she barked, "Hold your horses, jackass!" Glowering, she flung the door open.

A thin she-duck filled the doorway, her brow knitted together loosely as a frown turned the corners of her mouth downward. "Martina, it is four in the afternoon," she exhaled, running her hand over her thick auburn curls before readjusting the solid black headband holding back her bangs. "Why are you still dressed like that?"

Marty rolled her eyes as she fell against the doorframe. "My bedtime is a lot earlier than yours obviously, Summer," she muttered.

"Uh-huh. Why do you smell like a brewery?"

"Summer, cut the mother hen act," Marty sighed. "What's going on?"

Summer's gaze softened suddenly and Marty couldn't help but remember when Director Hooter had taken her aside last year. She had always thought he had the kindest, saddest eyes she had ever seen. They sat out on the bureau's steep steps and he told her about her father's passing. (She had just returned from a mission in Hong Kong.) Normally, she would have shrugged it off in front of anyone else, but at that moment, she simply allowed her head to drop on his shoulder as the tears spilled forth. Marty blinked, her arms falling to her sides as she moved out of the doorway to let Summer into the apartment. She inhaled slowly. "So, lay it on me."

"They found him," Summer said simply as she walked over to a couch. She sat down, grabbing a throw pillow and fluffing it before Marty shot her a pointed look. She tossed it to the other end of the couch and clasped her hands together in her lap.

Marty's brow furrowed loosely. "What do you mean 'they found him'? Found who?"

"Don't pretend that you have no clue who I'm talking about, Marty. You know exactly who Wade is picking up."

"Oh god," Marty groaned, tugging at her hair. "Not Wade. Oh, anyone but Wade. Please, tell me you're wrong about Wade."

Summer only shook her head. "Gryzilikof sent him out this morning."

Marty bowed her head, covering her face with her hands. "Oh no."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Yay, finished (and edited) chapter 2! And cookies for Cheeezey for spotting the Deadpool cameo in the last chapter. ;)**

* * *

"Launchpad," Drake called out as he entered the house. He and the kids had been waiting outside for the last fifteen minutes and while the kids were losing interest in continuing their small football tournament, Drake was determined to win at least one game against Gosalyn. If that meant dragging his half conscious best friend to the end zone himself, so be it.

There was no response. Drake frowned. "LP, how long does it take to slap a band-aid on?"

For a moment, Drake wondered if he should have listened to Morgana and driven his friend to the hospital. The visual of Launchpad passed out on the bathroom floor flashed in his head as a sudden pang of guilt and concern hit him. He swallowed hard, jogging to the staircase and taking the steps two at a time.

"Launchpad?" He stood outside the bathroom door, nervously tapping his knuckles against the wood. "Pal, you alright?"

Maybe he had one too many of Binkie's brownies. Binkie was an exceptional cook but now that Morgana had moved in with the Mallards, the witch and homemaker had been spending quite a bit of time together. Surely some of his girlfriend's unusual recipes had found their way into the Muddlefoot's cookbook by now and he couldn't possibly be the only person in the house that couldn't handle Morgana's cooking. "LP? Do you need me to call a doctor? An ambulance?"

Silence. Drake was becoming more and more agitated. He made a sound of frustration, twisting the brass door knob only to find it locked. He knocked a little harder. "Launchpad, if you can hear me, I hope you know I'm coming in!"

He took a few steps back and raised his foot. Two hard kicks and the door finally broke away from the frame, hanging crookedly off its hinges. "Launchpad?"

The floor was clear, the tub empty. Nothing in the room was out of place. In fact, it looked as if no one had even entered the bathroom that day. Drake limped over to the small window, studying it carefully for a moment. The door had been locked, but he supposed that wasn't unusual. He couldn't count the number of times he, LP or Gosalyn had shut the door behind them with the lock still accidentally placed. With a frown, he turned to walk out of the restroom.

A note on the counter caught his eye. Had he passed that up when he rushed in? He couldn't remember. He snatched up the note, staring hard at the letters scrawled across it. Confusion swept across his features. "Borrowing one sidekick. BRB. TTYL. WW?" he read aloud. "What the hell does that mean?"

* * *

Chief Agent Vladimir Gryzilikoff was nursing a cup of coffee when Marty marched into the conference room with a hard glare on her face and a thick case file tucked under her arm. "So, I hear you sent Wade to the Mallard house," she stated curtly as she came to a stop at the end of the table. "Decided to confuse the poor bastard some more by sending him to the house of some family with the same last name, did ya?"

"Yes, I did send him. No, Agent Mallard knows family on Avian Way is not his," he replied evenly, arching an eyebrow. "There is problem, Agent McFly?"

"Uh. Yeah, there is," she snapped, dropping the file on the table and placing her hands on her hips. "Are you fucking kidding me? You just sent the most unpredictable, volatile and moronic drake on the face of the planet to a quiet suburban neighborhood to retrieve some poor sap who has no business being pulled into this situation in the first place. He's not even an actual agent. That's a problem."

With a sigh, he lifted his gaze from the coffee mug between his paws to the blonde standing across from him. "Agent McFly, I suggest you calm down," he said in a quiet, but dangerous tone. "Sit."

"I think I'm gonna stand. Makes the storming out so much easier," she replied, flashing a cheery smile. She knew he had meant to intimidate her with the way his voice sounded, but she hadn't risen through the ranks by allowing the old grizzly bear to frighten her. On the contrary, she had climbed to the top by listening to his not-so-gentle suggestions, then ignoring them completely and doing things her own way. It had worked for her in the past as much as it had in the present.

"Fine," he growled. "Sit. Stand. I do not care."

A frown replaced her smile. "Call Wade back," she demanded sharply. "Now."

Gryzilikoff snorted. "Crazy duck is already back," he replied calmly, glancing down at his coffee again.

Marty released an inaudible sigh of relief as the anger drained away from her face. "Oh thank god," she exhaled, pulling out a chair and flopping into it. "Y'know, Grizz, you have way more sense than I thought. Totally need to tell the guys in legal to stop sending you those fake lawsuits for your numerous crimes against fashion-"

The grizzly bear raised his gaze. "He is dropping off 'package' in holding cell four."

"What?" she squeaked in a voice more suitable for a mouse than a duck.

He only smiled smugly, picking up his mug and taking a sip of coffee. "Should I repeat that?" he chuckled. "Maybe in high pitch squeak that only dogs can hear? Hmm?"

In one quick motion, she reached over and grabbed the bear by the collar of his shirt roughly, pulling him out of his seat and over the table with a sudden burst of strength. Her chair clattered to the floor, a deafening ring resonating through the conference room. "What the hell did you do?" she demanded darkly.

His lip pulled back to reveal sharp fangs. "Stand down, Agent McFly."

"Not until you tell me what the fuck you did," she snarled. "I told you to leave him out of this! I can take care of this mission alone! Take him home! Drop him off in Duckburg! Send him to Cape Suzette for all I care. Just get him away from here and me!"

Gryzilikoff tore himself away from her grasp, straightening his wrinkled collar. "You will be off this case if you don't freeze out, Agent McFly," he barked.

Folding her arms across her chest, Marty rolled her eyes. "That's chill out, idiot," she grumbled.

"Whatever." A beat of silence passed between them. Gryzilikoff's hands dropped to his sides and he inhaled deeply through his nose. "Why are you being so against this, agent? You are always out of dress code, never have your case reports done or follow orders, but never like this."

Marty's eyes widened slightly surprised by the thoughtfulness in the chief agent's voice. Her brow furrowed slightly and the corners of her mouth turned downward in a frown. The answer flitted around in the front of her mind, mocking her childishly. She was against it because the last thing she wanted was to see him hurt again, whether or not she was the cause this time. She turned away from the bear without giving him an actual answer. He didn't need to know. "What holding cell is McQuack in, sir?" she inquired quietly.

"Four."

She nodded, throwing back her shoulders and lifting her chin in an attempt to appear confident. Inside, she wanted nothing more than to slink into the closest, darkest corner of the world and stay there. She didn't know what she was doing. A voice within screamed at her to turn around and march her frazzled ass right back to her apartment but her feet carried her steadily away from the table. "Give me a minute with him." It was hardly a question, but the older agent treated it as such and replied affirmatively before she continued. "Might as well get the hard part over with first. The rest of it'll be a cake walk."

* * *

"Oh, god, not again," Launchpad groaned as he lifted his hands and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. There was a twinge of pain in the back of his head and he wasn't sure if it was just from his impromptu crash through the Muddlefoots' fence during the backyard football game or the blow to the head that ninja (or whatever the hell that guy was supposed to be) had landed that had made him black out was causing his head to reel. He rubbed his eyes, inhaling slowly as his stomach twisted into painful, nervous knots. His hands lowered away from his face. Placing them back on the table palm down, he lifted his eyes.

Just like the first time, the room was poorly lit. A single naked bulb hung above the table, but provided little light as it swayed gently. Lowering his gaze, he made out the framework for a door on one wall. There was a single window on the wall beside it, long and tinted black. He frowned, sinking into his seat. Most likely, whoever had brought him here was watching him now through that mirror and maybe having a good laugh at his expense. With a shaky sigh, he settled against the chair and prepared to wait.

When the DIA had picked him up years ago, he had run through the countless reasons a government agency would want him. Back then, none of them had really stuck. Why would the DIA arrest him for helping Marty tip over a few cows in high school? Maybe that one crazy night…He shook his head. Now was not the time to reminisce about a graduation party that got out of hand. Either way, none of his adventures with Mr. McD ended with an interrogation. He assumed it had to do with the fact that Mr. McDuck was the richest duck in the world; he never bothered to confirm it, though.

Come to think of it, he should have been use to being locked up in these holding cells. Lord only knew how many times he had ended up in one after solving a high profile case with DW. He tilted his head back, staring past the yellow bulb and into the darkness that covered the ceiling. Darkwing had explained that because he didn't have a mask to hide behind, the police could easily seek him out for testimonies and the like. Launchpad was fine with that. Anything he could do to help, after all. Still, sometimes, he found himself wondering what it would have been liked if he had just gone through with his original plans…

"Probably wouldn't have ended up here," he sighed.

The door flew open suddenly and he lifted his head. Bright white light flooded the room, bathing every inch of the holding cell. He raised his hand automatically, shielding his face from the harsh brightness before a shadow filled the doorway. The heavy steel door slammed shut. The light disappeared and he was left in almost complete darkness again.

Palms pressed against his eyes, Launchpad grimaced. "Alright, who's there? What's going on?" he demanded, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Hands falling on the table palm down, he set his jaw tightly and narrowed his gaze. "Excuse me? Are ya gonna tell me why I'm here?"

"Director Hooter will explain everything," a soft voice murmured in response from a dark corner near the door. His muscles tensed and he felt his fingers attempt to dig into the metal table before him. God, he hated when people pulled the disembodied voice gag. Morgana's relatives were notorious for it and always laughing at how jumpy he'd become. Then again, it was hard not to be tense around the monsters.

After a few moments, he was able to make out a slender figure in the corner. "I don't bite, ya know," he grumbled. "You could talk to me like a normal person. After having me knocked out and giving me a heck of a migraine, I think you owe me that much."

"You're…you're right." The figure hesitantly took a step forward, allowing the dim light to fall over her. The light managed to pick up golden red glints in her hair that made her grey blue eyes seem even bluer. Blue eyes that he had not seen in person for almost twelve years.

He half expected her to evaporate from his sight, fade into the dimly lit background like an apparition. It wasn't until his chest began to feel painfully tight that he realized he'd been holding his breath, fearing that she would disappear. He inhaled shakily. He blinked slowly. When he opened his eyes, she remained.

Her eyes were glued to the tabletop as her slender fingers traced loops and dashes and figure eights across the metal tabletop. His eyes narrowed slightly. She lifted her hand briefly to wrap a few stray strands of blonde hair around her forefinger, a nervous gesture, before returning her attention to the table.

Hesitantly, Launchpad opened his mouth, surprised to hear his voice at all. "…Marty?"

Her fingers stopped just above the tabletop. Blue eyes flicked up to meet his dark ones. "I told them to leave you out of this," she murmured, a familiar weak, crooked smile tugging the corner of her mouth upward. "But, heh, Gryzilkoff loves to screw me over, y'know."

Launchpad nodded slowly. "Yeah, I hear he's like that."

"Yeah," she sighed, visibly deflating.

"You work for…" he prompted.

"S.H.U.S.H.," she replied, lowering her eyes once more. "I tried out for the D.I.A., but S.H.U.S.H. made me the better offer after basic training."

He rolled his tensed shoulders back, desperately trying to appear more at ease, more casual. "Oh," he nodded. "How, um, how long have you worked there?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Something like six or seven years now," she answered evenly. "So, you and Darkwing Duck, huh? Must be exciting. I, um, I have a couple of the newspaper articles about you two."

Launchpad said nothing. He did nothing. He couldn't bring himself to move or speak now. Only stare. She hadn't changed much. She was a little leaner than she had been in high school, most of her baby fat melted away to show tight muscle under her white cotton shirt. Her hair, now much longer than he ever remembered it being, was pulled into a high ponytail rather that allowed to hang loose around her shoulders as she normally wore it in the past. She looked amazing and that realization stung a bit. Did she have to look so great? Her eyes flicked up again to meet his. "Launchpad?"

"Wow," he breathed, a faint smile tugging the corners of his mouth upward. "You're…you're like all grown-up now."

A soft laugh escaped her bill and a ripple of warmth went through his chest. "I should say the same about you," she replied, tucking a drift of hair back into place. "You look great, Launchpad."

"Yeah, well, chasing bad guys every night is a pretty darn good workout," he grinned, folding his arms over his chest. Now, more at ease, he settled against the chair comfortably. "Y'know, if you wanted to see me, you could of just swung by the house. I'm in the book. Ya didn't have to send that ninja or whatever he was to get me."

The smile fell away from her face, replaced by a grim frown. "LP, about that," she began, uncertainty coloring her voice as she stepped forward and hopped up to sit on the table. "Look, don't get the wrong idea when I say this, alright?"

His stomach twisted and his smile faltered just the tiniest bit. "Okay?"

"It wasn't my idea to bring you here," she explained. "Honestly, if I had any idea they had actually sent Wade to fetch you, I would not have shown up at work today. Really, when Reed came to tell me, I was still hoping-"

Launchpad's brow furrowed as a mix of hurt and confusion flitted over his features. He raised a hand to stop her as a nervous but bitter laugh escaped his bill. "Y-you were hoping NOT to see me? What? Why?"

He watched an expression of unease flash across Marty's features. "Launchpad, I'm sorry."

"Are you now?" he spat, his tone being much harsher than he intended.

She frowned, dropping back down to the floor. "Yes. I know how _messy_ this is going to get," she continued. "I didn't want you involved."

"Oh, so you didn't want to see me for my own good? Is that it?" he guessed, a false grin on his face. "That's so nice how you're always thinking of me. See, this is why we're such great friends." What the hell was wrong with him? He never snapped at anyone. Even at his angriest with DW, he never snapped. The worse he had had done was flip the Thunderquack over in mid-flight and even then, it had been done out of frustration, not anger. But at that moment, he felt his blood boiling and the anger burning away at his insides seemed to be fueled the longer he stared at Marty.

The words flew from his mouth before he could think of anything else to say. "So, is that why you didn't feel the need to slow the truck down when ya took off the first time? Trying to do what was best for me then too, right?"

For a moment, a mixture of shock and pain flashed across her features. Then, her eyes turned to tiny, angry slits. "I am not discussing _that _with you right now," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Be professional, for goodness sakes."

Whatever self control he had snapped in two and the anger surged forward. He slammed his hands against the table, rattling the creaky piece of furniture as he hoisted himself up from the steel chair and onto his feet. He managed to hold back a cringe as the chair scraped backwards against the rough concrete floor before toppling over with a crash. "I think you guys threw professionalism out the window when you sent that nut job to my house to bash me over the head and kidnap me!"

"Will you calm down?" Marty mumbled. "Jeez, you're gonna give yourself an aneurysm or something…"

He growled as he straightened up, rubbing his throbbing temple. His headache was growing stronger. "What the hell is the big idea anyway? Why did you send that psycho to my house?" he demanded, jabbing a finger in the direction of the door before pointing at her. "And how did you figure out where I was living now?"

The anger and frustration drained from Marty's face, replaced by a nervous smile. "Lucky guess," she mumbled sheepishly.

He raised an eyebrow slightly at her, unconvinced. "All these years and you're still a horrible liar," he grumbled, looking away. "What? Did some of your agents go harassing my folks? Loopy? Or Mr. McD? Fenton?"

"No one harassed anyone," she sighed. "You said it yourself. You're in the book. Anyone could have found you."

His frown deepened as he lifted his hand and rubbed his forehead. "Aw hell, I really needed to get rid of that listing…" The heavy metal door swung open again and Launchpad turned his face away from the harsh light with a grimace. "Now what?" he muttered irritated.

When he turned back, Marty was standing at attention while Director J. Gander Hooter settled into the chair across from him. "Ah, Mr. McQuack, please take a seat. We have much to discuss," the elderly gander began, his tone light and friendly as always.

Launchpad frowned, but righted the chair he had knocked over earlier and plopped down all the while glaring at Marty. "Look, whatever this is about, I'm not interested," he said hotly, turning his stony gaze to the director. "I can pass along a message to DW if ya really need me to, but ya got the wrong guy for the job."

"I'm afraid Darkwing's tactics would not be beneficial on this particular case. Not yet, at least," Director Hooter replied as he placed a file on the table top between them. "But according to this, you could be our man."

"What's this?" Launchpad dragged the file closer to him and flipped the cover open carelessly. The cover page said simply 'Case 241-Dr. No-Good'. He inhaled slowly through his nose and flipped the folder closed once more. "Ya got the wrong guy," he repeated, a bit more forcefully. "I told Hoover. I'm out of the spy business and I'm gonna tell you the same thing now. I'm done with all that. Find yourself another Bruno Von Beak replacement."

Marty scoffed lightly. "This coming from the guy who pretends to be Darkwing Duck every once and while."

"Hey, that's different," Launchpad snapped. "And you know it!"

"How is that?" she continued evenly.

"It just is." With a low growl, he pushed himself away from the table again, standing to his full six foot one height. It was bad enough that she'd dreaded the idea of seeing him; he wasn't about to allow her to bully him as well. "You really want to start, McNair?"

"Oh please, like you'd actually lay a hand on a girl," she snorted.

He sniffed derisively. "Well, thank god you're not a girl, then."

"Fuck you!"

A sharp whistle broke through the insults and Launchpad turned to see J. Gander standing on his chair. "That's enough!" he shouted. "My goodness, I knew this was going to be difficult, but I wasn't expecting you two to resort to such childish squabbling five minutes into this discussion!"

"Hey, she started it," Launchpad interjected, still scowling at Marty.

"I don't care who started it," the older man said sternly, a look of disappointment etched on his face. "Now, Launchpad, sit down. Martina, not one word or you will be dismissed. The same goes for you, Launchpad."

Like two scolded children, the two did as they were told. Launchpad slouched in his seat, lowered his gaze to the table and sighed quietly. Marty slinked off to a darker corner of the room, her eyes transfixed to the floor. J. Gander started once more. "Now, as I was saying, you had no training, no experience and you successfully completed your mission without any help. Even reformed a F.O.W.L. agent."

"Yeah, well, kinda difficult to call for help on a comb. The reception is horrible. Don't even get me started on how hard it is to reload a toupee pistol." The gander's brow arched as impatience flickered across his face. Launchpad grinned sheepishly and made a motion of zipping up his bill.

"Yes, well, we've changed the way we do things around here," he continued. "So this should be easier for you."

Launchpad frowned, his forehead wrinkled in concerned. "J. Gander, I'm sorry, but I really…I really don't think I'm the right guy," he muttered. "That mission was a mistake. It wasn't supposed to happen. The D.I.A. agents thought…well, you know what they thought. I'm not that guy anymore. I'm just a sidekick. Uh, support guy, back up…comic relief…"

He glanced in Marty's direction. She had probably heard him. Normally, it wouldn't matter. He was proud that he was Darkwing Duck's sidekick. He was damn good at what he did, crashes and all. Still, the indifferent expression on Marty's face crushed what little confidence he had at that moment. He didn't even know why it mattered so much what she thought of him. Marty had cut him out of her life the moment she drove away without so much as a goodbye; why should he care?

A long moment passed before the director nodded and forced a smile. "Alright, alright. I understand. Well, I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. McQuack. Perhaps, Agent McFly could give you a ride home, then."

* * *

Marty leaned against the wall, only half listening to Hooter and Launchpad while she stared at the ground disdainfully. She already knew all the little details of his first and last mission for the D.I.A.; she'd pored over the case report cover to cover nearly three times in the last couple nights, each detail engraved in her mind: Bruno Von Beak, the mistaken identity, Feathers Galore, Dr. No-Good and his unfortunate fate, Launchpad's ultimate decision to decline the agency's offer to stay on as a permanent agent. A decision she could understand him making at the time or so she thought. He had never been the adventurous type when they were younger. If anything, she would simply drag him along when a crazy idea struck her or he'd tag along when her schemes teetered on the edge of life-threatening. Someone had to protect her from herself or so he said.

Still, much had obviously changed; according to the background check SHUSH had sent her, anyway. She'd spent two and half days avoiding the stupid folder and when she finally broke down and read it, she could hardly believe it was over the same Launchpad McQuack who for the longest time didn't even want to sit in a high chair, let alone fly. He had traveled the world as Scrooge McDuck's pilot for almost five years, hiking through jungles and deserts and Lord knows what else before packing up his life and moving to St. Canard. Then, in a few short months, he had become Darkwing Duck's sidekick. Even mistaken for Darkwing Duck himself, apparently, but she had seen the news reports and scoffed at the very idea. _For fuck's sakes, they weren't even the same height and build. Really? Is Tom Lockjaw that stupid? Are the citizens of St. Canard _**that **_stupid, _she thought with a frown. Still he faced danger on a daily basis and it didn't even seem to faze him now. She was stuck behind a desk on most days, staring at piles and piles of paperwork while he was actually making a difference. Her forehead wrinkled slightly as she mulled over the facts laid out before her.

The drake sitting at the table wasn't the same duckling she had met three days before pre-school, running around an open cornfield, arms outstretched and held stiff at his sides and humming like a weak jet engine. She tilted her head slightly. Well, not entirely different. There was a small part of her that liked to believe he still did that. She looked away, wrapping her arms around her torso as a dull ache began in her stomach. Maybe she was wrong for trying to protect him, wrong that she kept thinking of him as that red-headed duckling she had spent her entire childhood with and trying to keep him that way at least in spirit.

But she missed those days. She missed playing flag football, calling him on a walkie-talkie at midnight and racing to the playground during recess. She missed tackling him in the halls between classes, stealing the jell-o packs his mother would pack in his lunch and sitting in his biplane while he worked on the engine and she hummed little songs. She missed all of it.

Most of all, she missed him…

"Agent McFly," J. Gander's voice broke through her reverie and she snapped to attention.

"Yes, sir?" The S.H.U.S.H. director motioned for her to come closer and stood up from the chair, offering it to her. Hesitantly, she sat down.

While he wasn't glaring at her anymore, Launchpad looked ill, a light green tint coloring his pale feathers as he stared at the table. She grimaced. That didn't make her feel any better; it only added to her guilt for not being able to prevent this whole mess from disrupting his life. Again.

Hooter placed his hand on her shoulder, smiling gently. "Would you be so kind as to escort Mr. McQuack back home?"

Surprised, she nodded and watched as he walked back out of the room. Once he was gone, Marty turned back to Launchpad. A tense silence fell over them and they sat there, trying to look everywhere else but at each other. She swallowed, pushing down the knot forming in her throat. Like she hoped, he hadn't accepted…and yet, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of melancholy because of it. She didn't know if she'd ever see him again. She didn't know if he'd ever want to see her again and that frightened her. Hesitantly, she reached over and placed her fingers lightly on his. "'Pad, are you okay?" she finally asked.

His eyes drifted up from the table to regard her, a mix of humiliation and sadness visible in them though she was clueless as to why. "Yeah…I'm fine," he replied in a low voice, sliding his hand away from hers. "Ya mind giving me a ride?"

"I can do that," she replied, smiling gently despite feeling somewhat rejected by his previous gesture. "Launchpad… you know, you're doing the right thing."

His frown deepened as he looked away from Marty. "Funny, usually doing the right thing doesn't make me feel like I'm buried beneath fifteen feet of crap," he scoffed.

"I know what you mean."

* * *

The car ride was quiet. Launchpad couldn't bring himself to look at Marty, not after the way he had snapped at her in the interrogation room. He still couldn't believe he had done that, yet he knew why. It hurt to know she didn't want anything to do with him after all these years apart, as if their fourteen year friendship meant absolutely nothing to her. In the back of his head, he always knew that had to be the reason she never wrote or called him back after she left Duckburg. After a few years, he had gotten the message and stopped trying, but still, he always hoped.

Disappointed, Launchpad shook his head, erasing the thoughts floating around his mind for the time being. He'd have plenty of time to think later while he was giving the Thunderquack a tune up. Or he could always take a trip down to the small hangar he owned just outside of town. Plenty of planes to fix up there while he allowed his thoughts to wander. Eyes transfixed on the window, he watched as they drove past familiar skyscrapers and street signs in the dying daylight. After a few moments, the twin towers looming over the Audubon Bay Bridge came into view. Once they crossed the bridge, he knew they'd be in suburbia within minutes.

_And we'll probably never see each other again_, he thought, visibly wilting. It was sad to think that the car ride was going to end with him apologizing, thanking her and then watching her rear lights fade into the night, much like the night she first sped out of his life. The thought caused his frown to deepen.

They were nearing Avian Way when he finally tore his gaze away from the window and looked at her. "I'm sorry," he blurted out.

He noticed her eyes widen slightly, taken aback by his abrupt apology. "For what?" Her eyes drifted over to him for a moment before drifting back to focus on the road.

"For being a jerk back there. I…didn't mean to start yellin' and-"

"Launchpad, you're fine," she replied. "You have every right to be pissed off, alright? I mean, I'd be ready to kick someone's ass if someone like Wade knocked me out and threw me into an interrogation room without much reason, too. So, don't worry about it."

He nodded. "Right…"

They were coming up to the Muddlefoot's home now. His chest tightened, his pounding heart in a vice grip between his ribs as reality started setting in. She was going to park soon and that was it. He'd get out, walk up the sidewalk to the front door, go inside and get ready for patrol with DW. She'd be long gone before he even sat down in the revolving blue chairs to head to the tower. Without giving it much thought, he kept talking, kept trying to prolong his time in the car. "What exactly did J. Gander want me to do, anyway?"

Marty tensed, her grip on the steering wheel tightening for a split second before she regained her cool composure. "It was nothing. Just some silly undercover mission. I can totally handle it on my own," she smiled sweetly and waved a hand dismissively. "Hah, like any of those FOWL agents could scare me."

"FOWL?" he repeated as his brow shot up in surprise. "You're going up against FOWL? Alone?"

"Well, not completely alone. I mean, I can call for back-up but I doubt I'll need it," she said casually. "It's such a simple mission. Go in, look around and get the hell out. Piece of cake. Wrapping Jenna Flockheart's house with toilet paper in the ninth grade was a bigger challenge."

Launchpad blinked dumbly at her. Marty always seemed to chase trouble rather than avoid it. That hadn't changed nor was he surprised. Except she wasn't just tipping over cows and egging on bulls, attempting to bungee jump off her roof or drag racing down an old dirt road in her daddy's speedster. She was purposefully putting herself in front of the business end of a gun and allowing some FOWL agent pull the trigger now? His brow furrowed slightly. A sudden feeling of déjà vu washing over him, the same feeling that would hit him every time she would share her newest plans with him. He nearly laughed because of it. How was he going to explain to J. Gander the sudden change in heart?

She parked the car, shifting in her seat to face him while her hand hovered over the switch that unlocked the doors. A forced smile on her face, Marty's gaze fell on him for a moment before her eyes darted down. That look was the final push he needed. Twelve years and he still knew when she was uncertain about her plans, even when she didn't know it herself. It was all in her eyes; she just never believed him when he told her. "Huh, well, I guess this is goodbye…" she sighed.

Launchpad shook his head. "Turn the car around. I'm going with you."

A beat of silence passed between them. In that one moment, he saw an amused grin spread across her bill, then vanish completely before her eyes locked on his, hard and cold. He supposed she realized that he wasn't kidding.

"No, you're not! You are getting out of my car right now!" Marty barked, reaching around him and unlocking the passenger door. She wrapped her hand around the door handle, pulling it toward her and then pushing it forward and out in a quick motion.

Before he could react, she shoved her shoulder against his chest, pushing him out. A short yelp of surprise escaped his throat. He grabbed onto the door frame, gritting his teeth as her elbow jabbed his side just beneath his ribs. "I am going with you! I changed my mind," he grunted, pushing back. "Now take me back to SHUSH!"

Marty shot him a sharp look, shifting and planting her foot in the middle of his chest. "You can't just change your mind like that," she grumbled, snapping her fingers for emphasis. "This isn't like when you didn't want to go to the prom."

He grimaced, tightening his grip on the frame. For such a tiny thing, she had surprisingly strong legs. "Yeah, well, I still went, didn't I? Tux and everything. You owe me!"

"For prom? Are you fucking kidding me?" she snapped, giving him a well placed kick in the chest. His fingers slipped as the air escaped his lungs. He tumbled out across the sidewalk to land on the lawn on his back. Shaking his head, he sat up in time to see her pulling the car door shut.

"Goodbye, Launchpad." The door slammed shut and the rear lights lit up as she shifted out of park. He scrambled to his feet, racing over just as she was pulling away from the curb.

Without hesitation, he jumped in front of the vehicle, slamming his hands down on the hood as she stomped down on her brakes, causing the car to jerk and the tires to screech. He could see her blue eyes narrow, that familiar dangerous look that silently promised he'd be regretting his decision soon. The end of her bill curled back in an angry snarl. She leaned on the horn. The sound echoed down the quiet suburban street and he could see several porch lights come on, front doors opening and window blinds shifting around him. "Hehe, Marty, you're making a scene…" he said through the corner of his mouth as he smiled and nodded at his neighbors nervously. "Hey, Mrs. Zebeckras. How are you-oof!"

The car zipped backwards, swerving around him as he toppled over. He managed to regain his balance before hitting the ground completely, breaking into a sprint after Marty. She was speeding ahead through the neighborhood, quickly gaining ground thanks to the fact that she was in a car. Launchpad slowed for a moment, panting heavily and just about ready to collapse when the sound of a bicycle bell caught his attention. He whipped around, spotting a ten year old girl riding along on a shiny pink bike, complete with glittery streamers and woven basket, happily unaware of the chase. It was a long shot, but it would have to do.

"Hey, kiddo, uh, mind if I borrow your bike?"


End file.
